Disclaimer: The characters belong to Marvel, but the idea is mine.
Iím not receiving any payment for this story, so please donít sue me. I have
nothing valuable, so it would only be a tremendous waste of time, effort and
financial resources. This story contains mature situations, coarse language, and
explicit descriptions of sexual contact between two consenting adults. If you
are under the legal age in your area to view adult-oriented material, or if it
is illegal for you to view this material in your area, then do not continue. If
you read it, you assume responsibility for yourself.

As always, I welcome feedback. If you like the story, great! If you donít,
thatís fine, too! I tell the stories I want in my own way. This is my blessing,
this is my curse! :)

Wolverine stood motionless, every muscle on alert, and ready to spring into
action if necessary. He listened. His super-sensitive hearing picked up sounds
of pursuit from behind him. Autumn wind blew in his face and carried the sent of
his pursuer with it. He had come out here to hunt some rabbits, but found that
he was the quarry instead.

Logan didnít like that. Didnít like that at all.

Adrenalin threatened to surge through his body and trigger the "fight or
flight" response Xavier often yammered on about to his Psych students.
Fortunately, though, Loganís years of study in Japan gave him the tools to quiet
his body and mind. He slowed his breathing and focused his awareness on himself.
When the initial urge had passed, he opened his eyes and looked around. No one
was there. He inhaled deeply. Still no scent from behind. He grunted.

"Probíly just my head playiní tricks," he muttered and turned back. "Maybe I
should head back to the house anyways."

As he walked, Logan thought about his time with the X-Men. He had seen a lot
of things that most people only dreamed of: underwater civilizations, alien
empires, beings with godlike powers. But, he was still basically the same man
that had walked through the front door of the Xavier School for Gifted
Youngsters all those years ago. Now, it was called the Xavier Institute for
Higher Learning. Whatever the name, it took in mutants and taught them the
control and proper use of their unique genetic gifts.

Everyone but me.

Then again, Logan hadnít expected miracles. His mutant powers were autonomic
- his senses were incredibly keen and his body automatically healed itself
whenever he was injured. Logan had come to Charles Xavier for another type of
help. He wanted to control the beast that lurked within him.

Few people realized just how appropriate his code name, Wolverine, was. Like
his namesake, Logan was compact and strong. In battle, he fought with a tenacity
and an intensity that would have impressed the Vikings. But in Loganís case, he
entered a feral state of consciousness when he was enraged, a place in his mind
where the Animal gained ascendance over the Man. While Xavier had reinforced the
fact that he was not a beast, Logan always felt his feral self growling in the
back of his mind, tempting him with the freedom of the Wild.

*Crack*

Logan spun around. It was the sound of a twig. He sniffed the air. Still
no scent. Logan knew he was being followed. "Mebbe one oí the kids is
playiní around wití the old man," he muttered. "If itís Jubilee, Iíll spank her
ass so hard sheíll have ta crap standiní up fer a week!"

Logan resumed his walk. He chuckled. He liked Jubilation Lee. Although she
was young, sheíd been through a lot and was wise beyond her years. She
understood him, never questioned him, never judged his actions. She wasnít above
playing a practical joke on "her bud, Wolvie."

A scent drifted across Loganís nose. He stopped in his tracks.

*Crack*

Loganís heart pounded in his chest. He was being stalked after all.
No, it was different from simple pursuit. He was being hunted, and the hunter
had decided to bring things out in the open. It was a good thing, too. Logan
knew who it was.

Laughter echoed through the trees. After several agonizing seconds, Victor
Creed stepped out from his hiding place. He stopped, keeping a lot of distance
between himself and the X-Man.

"You shouldía seen the look on yer face, runt!" Creed howled. Tears rolled
down his cheeks. "Ya looked like a rabbit ready ta bolt!" The larger man doubled
over and clutched his sides as laughter wracked through him.

Logan took out a cigar and lit it. "yeah. I ainít impressed, Creed, so
smarten up."

Sabertooth stopped laughing. He stood up and looked down at Logan. The two
men were physical opposites. Where Logan was short and compact, Victor was over
7 feet tall. Loganís black hair grew into two points above his head. Creeds mass
of blond curls tumbled down his back like the mane of a lion.

There were similarities, though. Both men were Canadians, They had worked
together in a special covert operations unit for the Department of National
Defence. Even their mutant powers were alike. Victor Creed sported enhanced
senses and a healing factor of his own.

"So, whata ya want?" Logan asked.

Creed crossed his arms. "Heard ya got yer adamantium claws back, old man," he
replied, "aní I wanted to see if it was true."

Logan puffed on his cigar. He bent his right forearm at the elbow and held
his wrist straight. Three thin pieces of the light, unbreakable metal slid out
from their housings between his knuckles. The long blades, Wolverineís
much-famed "claws," glinted in the late afternoon sunlight.

"See? Good as new," the X-Man said. "Now get yer ass outta here Ďfore I kick
it out!"

"The day you kick my ass, runt, is the day Charlie marries Magneto!" Creed
retorted, baring his fangs.

Loganís laughter bubbled up and out into the clearing. The thought of Chuckie
and Maggie vowing eternal love for one another was so . . . ridiculous. He
retracted his claws and sat on a nearby stump. Creed laughed, too. "Funny, ainít
it?" he asked.

He and Sabertooth had their share of knock-down drag-out brawls in the past.
These contests usually ended in a draw - their powers, strengths, and weaknesses
too similar to give either man a clear-cut advantage. They fought battles that
were ferocious, yet enthralling at the same time, like two predators competing
for the right to live.

"Nah.," Creed said. He looked at the log nails on his right hand. "My claws
ainít in no mood ta get broke off."

"Do ya?" Creed asked. The pain on his face looked all too familiar to Logan.
He wore that expression himself on more than one occasion. Most people thought
Wolverine was a psychotic homicidal maniac whom the X-Men barely managed to keep
under control. Very few people saw the man behind the reputation, and fewer
still really knew Logan.

"Yeah, I do," Logan said.

Creed walked over to the stump that Logan sat on. He crouched down next to it
and let out a deep breath. "Most oí my life, I been treated like an animal, no
like some crud less than dirt," he said. "No matter where I went or who I met, I
didnít fit in. I was only good fer maiminí aní killiní people." He looked into
Loganís eyes. "After a while, killiní was the only thing that made me feel good.
Made me feel alive. I was forty miles oí bad road. Didnít matter what anyone
thought oí me." He snapped off a long piece of grass and chewed it. "That is, I
didnít care until I met you."

"Whyís that?" Logan asked.

"ĎCause yer like I am. Me aní you, weíre cut from the same cloth. There
problíy ainít never been two muties with powers as close as ours. ĎSides, you
know what itís like to have the killiní urge."

"Yep, but I donít kill innocent people, no matter how I feel," Logan pointed
out.

Creed got up and stormed across the clearing. "But I ainít as strong as you,
Logan!" he screamed, "Ya got friends, almost a family. Ya got a place ta stay."
He swept his hand around the clearing. "What do I got? Who do I got? Nobodyíd
give a damn if I dropped off the face oí the earth," he said. Tear glinted in
his eyes, as icy as the bitterness in his voice. "Hell, theyíd probíly
cheer!"

"That yer all I got, Logan," Creed replied. He walked back over to Logan,
grabbed his shoulders, and kissed him square on the mouth. It took several
seconds for Loganís brain to register what had happened. Once it did, he pushed
the other mutant away and held him at armís length. A smile spread across
Victorís mouth. "Ya donít know what yer gonna do now, do ya, hotshot?"
Sabertooth teased.

"What in the HELL was that all about?"

"Ya liked it."

"No, I didnít!"

"Bullshit, Logan. I got heightened senses, too, remember? I can smell it offa
ya. Yer giviní off more musk than a bull moose in the Fall."

Logan stiffened. Creed was right. He could smell his own arousal. "So what?
Itís a perfectly normal reaction ta what ya did Ďcause I wasnít expectiní
it."

"Maybe, but I bet ya ainít never had a man kiss ya like that before."

"Hold yer horses there, bucko," Logan said. "That ainít necessarily true.
There was that one time duriní WWII when me aní Captain America was stayin in
the French hotel . . ."

Creedís eyes widened. "Bull! Thereís no way you got it on with any Avenger,
let alone Glory Pants."

"Believe what ya want, bub," Logan said. "I donít care one way or the
other."

"Yes ya do. Iím the only person in the world who really knows what ya go
through."

Logan pushed Creed back and stood up. He walked across the clearing. A stream
murmured nearby. He felt hot and sticky all of a sudden. Wish I could jump in
that stream, he thought. He felt Creed approach and squeeze his shoulders.
This close, Loganís senses swam, almost overwhelmed by the animalian sensations
that flooded over him: Creedís scent, the heat from his body, the feel of his
touch. He was helpless as Creed spun him around and kissed him a second time,
this kiss deeper than the first. Tongues caressed sharp teeth and smooth gums,
plumbing the inner recesses of the otherís mouth. Blood pounded through Loganís
veins. He knew nothing outside of this place, no one beyond this man: his mortal
enemy, only friend, and would-be lover.

At that moment, Logan wanted it, too. Cool air tickled hot skin Creed had
opened Loganís flannel plaid shirt and had found his nipples. He caressed them
until they were as hard as pebbles on his chest. "Do ya want this, runt?" he
asked.

"Stop yakiní and do it, already!" Logan snarled.

"Whatever ya say, Wolverine," Creed said. Logan watched as Creedís hand
drifted down his chest to the front of his jeans, where it squeezed the
prominent bulge it found there. "Ainít ya just rariní ta go!" he exclaimed.

Logan moaned as Creed massaged the front of his pants. "Ya could say that,"
he managed to say. The two men fell onto the carpet of yellowed grass below.
Wolverine popped out a single claw and sliced through Creedís thin cotton shirt,
baring that massive chest. Logan was stunned by the otherís manís size. Victor
was truly a magnificent specimen of mutant manhood. Logan lapped at the flesh
now exposed to his, savoring the salty taste of Creedís skin. Desire began to
cloud his senses, until . . .

"Who are you talking to, Logan?" Jean Summers asked as she stepped into the
clearing. Logan looked around. Creed was gone. In front of him were the scraps
of the white cotton T-shirt remained. Logan picked them up and stuffed them in
his pocket. "No one, Jeannie," he replied, "no one at all."

"Well, you should come back to the mansion. Remyís cooked a real Cajun
feast!"

Logan buttoned up his shirt before he turned to face Jean. "Good idea," he
said, "Iím starviní all of a sudden."

"It must be this fresh air," she said. The two turned back and walked toward
the Institute. Logan looked down at the scraps of cloth that poked out from his
jeans. "Yeah, that must be it," he said, to no one in particular.

He looked up and saw Jean smile. They walked in silence. She wouldnít ask. He
wouldnít tell. He pushed the scraps of cotton down into his jeansí pocket and
hoped that Victor came back soon.